January.

Blue.

and grey...
Like tundra talked about by teachers in tiny classrooms with third grade lighting and tinny pencils

The dripping of leaking faucet.  Pipes - that drain into the hollow, hard ground.

Steaming cup of tea warms hands that cling like death rattles in my grandmother's chest while we sat in the hospice room that July, steam outside, grey, pale, Illusion of Living: inside.

My grandfather's face slung over the coffin.

Grass like rotting tinsel snaking through neighborhood yards.

It all feels abandoned.  Bitter chocolate.  Toe nail clippings.  Ice at the bottom of the empty orange juice glass at the local restaurant: bad service.

Tips at 10%.